


drink me like a liquor

by skochius



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Fuckbuddies, Holiday Sweaters, Homophobic Language, Identity Porn, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki also needs to seriously chill, M/M, Online Dating, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark Friendship, Sexting, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony makes leaps of not-quite logic, holiday parties, it's VERY light though, vague mentions of odin and howard being assholes, ~holiday magic~
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skochius/pseuds/skochius
Summary: Tony struggles enough with maintaining a work/life balance that won’t land him in the hospital by 31 and hooking up with a man he met on Grindr that he just sort of forgot to stop fucking, but now his boss is talking about a company holiday party in a way that sounds vaguely threatening. Meanwhile, Loki's trying to fend off his mom, who is just intent on setting him up with some peon from their company's R&D department while his fuckbuddy is pushing for something two steps below 'total commitment'.And somehow, they all meet in the middle.





	

* * *

 

Tony woke up at six AM sharp—not because his alarm clock went off, but rather as a Pavlovian response to a certain ring tone. A certain ring tone that meant he just got a text from the best looking dick he'd ever seen.

 _get your lazy ass up and send me a pic_  
_if I have to be up at ass'o'clock I better get some actual ass_

Leaving the warm comfort of his luxury sheets (costed half a month's salary, but oh so worth it) was not an appealing thought, but—Loki.

_now Tony. I know you're up I can see the 'read at' msg_

Tony yawned hugely and scratched at his belly. With a soft snort, he replied:

_idk Lo, the bed is so soft..._

The response was a grainy picture of a straining cock, purpled and slick, all wrapped up in pale, long fingers.

_now._

Chuckling, Tony rolled out of bed. Six AM was very early for him—or very late, depending on the day—but since he had himself a fancy, grown up office job, he figured he could pretend for a while to be one of those fancy, grown up office workers.

In truth, he was immensely grateful for his position at Bors Corp's engineering department. Tony was one of the brightest engineers stateside (humble, too), but he had... made a bit of a name for himself at MIT. The kind of name that ends up on social media, gets your dad to disinherit you, and makes it a teeny bit difficult to find a job when the image of you pissing off a national monument is the first thing that pops up during a Google search.

So, yeah, that Frigga Bor was willing to offer him a job—even one low on the ladder—was a damn miracle.

Tony didn't even bother tidying up his bedhead, or shaving off his night scruff. He just clicked the light on, spun around to present ass to his bathroom mirror, and tapped the capture button on his phone. There were still streaks of red on his back from the sheets, and his sleeping tank was half-covering the goods, but he sent it anyway.

Loki was weird like that—he liked 'authentic' selfies. _Give me something I'd actually see in the morning,_ he'd said once.

They met on Grindr around six months ago for a quick fuck on a Friday night, and caught on like wildfire. Loki was a _freak_ in bed, for all his fancy clothes and slicked back hair—but the icing on the cake, the pièce de résistance, _the cherry on the fucking ice-cream sundae_ was his dick.

When Tony first started to have cute little budding gay feelings, he imagined (and feverishly masturbated to) what his Perfect Dick™ would look like—thick, but not monstrous, smooth, and uncut with a nice roadmap of veins to trace with his tongue. Now, Tony grew up into a fine, upstanding man (pissing off buildings nonwithstanding), and he was more than accepting of cocks of all shapes and sizes.

But that fantasy never quite left his mind.

Then comes Loki—snarky, just a touch cruel, with sharp features and a sharper tongue, and the dick straight from Tony's boyhood dreams. How was he supposed to resist? He left his number tucked into the pocket of Loki's nice slacks, figuring that the worst that could happen was Loki never got in touch with him again.

Which would've been fine. Really.

Not three hours after Tony slipped out of Loki's apartment (as cold and precise as it's owner, god, but Tony was smitten)— _you fucking moron I almost washed ur number with my pants. next time just give it to me, jesus._

So, like the cheeky shit Tony was, he had replied with his own phone number and a kissy face.

And so started a half a year flirt-fest—they'd only been able to meet up a dozen times or so for frenzied fucks in a hotel or one of their apartments—whichever was closer—due to their busy schedules. Or, in Tony's case, the human need for sleep after staying on in Bors Corp R&D lab for a mildly illegal amount of time.

Tony's phone went off with that damn tone that always makes his cock twitch—it's a picture of a come-splattered hand and a message that reads, _good boy._

Humming, Tony rolled his shoulders lazily and stripped off his shirt. The picture had set a mood, now, and he had plenty of time to rub one out in the shower after that early morning wake up call. He set his coffee machine to brew from his phone—thank god for smart _everythings_ now-a-days, he just had to keep fresh grounds and water in there—and tossed his phone through the bathroom door and onto the bed in the adjacent room.

He adjusted the water to his favorite setting, which was two shades below 'melt your fucking skin off', as an ex described it, and let himself relax under the burning spray. The wank was leisurely and luxurious, unhurried by time constraints or the threat of a roommate walking in because he was a douchebag. He leaned back against the slick, cool shower tiles and thought of all that creamy pale skin of Loki's, just begging to be bitten.

Loki liked to play a hardass Dom—and he did it so fucking well—but there'd been a few times, maybe two or three, that Tony had the chance to really take charge, to drive him to near incoherence—once, with a blowjob that left Loki writhing, with actual tears running down his cheeks as Tony brought him _just to the edge_ and snapped back.

Tony latched onto that memory, letting it play through his head, all of Loki's whimpers and the choked back sounds before he finally punched through that icy demeanor and had Loki begging. Light-headed from the steam, Tony came with a grunt, pumping thick ropes of come onto the enamel of his shower floor. His chest heaved, and Tony just let himself slide down until his ass was on that hard floor, too, and the water battered his head.

He washed himself down there, a bit too shaken to trust his knees at that precise moment.

From the bedroom, Loki's ringtone chimed and Tony found himself smiling like a dope. He finished and dried off, not bothering yet with clothes. A man was entitled to walk around his own apartment with his dick out, as far as he was concerned.

Once he was out of the steam, the smell of coffee prickled at his nose. Thank god for it, too. He might not mind being up early _on this particular day_ , but that didn't mean he didn't need his daily dose of chemical 'wake the hell up'.

He grabbed up his phone on his way to the kitchen.

 _no response?_  
_I must be losing my touch_

Tony chuckled and took a moment to snap a picture of his limp (and bright red from the shower) cock. That was the basis of how they communicated—dick pics and the occasional naughty phone call that drove Tony wild because _that voice, oh my god._

_sry. phones aren't waterproof yet_

_isn't that your job?_ Loki snarked back. _designing expensive and unnecessary stuff? invent a waterproof phone ffs_

Somewhere between the sexting and the pics, life had slipped into their conversations. Not enough, perhaps, to qualify as a 'normal relationship', but really, if it wasn't broken, why fix it?

But as a note pops up on his phone with a reminder to buy more condoms after work, a thought comes to mind...

Just because something isn't _broken_ doesn't mean it couldn't be _improved_.

 

* * *

 

“Loki, really—Anthony works for our Research and Development teams, and he's a perfect fit for you. I wish you would just let me set you two up on a little date!”

Loki rubbed his temples, counting backwards from 'fuck you' to 'yes, ma'am'. Fucking Anthony Stark. Frigga had been trying to set them up for months now, and as much as he loved her, Loki _did not_ want his mother involved in his love life.

Or lack there of, since swapping dick pics with a handsome man he'd barely seen with clothes on probably didn't constitute anything serious enough for Frigga. Or the rest of the world.

“Mother,” he said, slowly. Controlled. “You cannot even be sure this man would be interest in... well, a _male_ companion.”

Frigga tittered at that, a sly, knowing expression lighting up her face. “Oh,” she said, coy, “from what I've seen, that's not going to be a problem, my dearest.”

Loki just rolled his eyes. Thank all the gods the part of the company he worked for was located in their main building, while R&D was kept completely separate. She'd be even worse if there was the opportunity to 'accidentally' bump into each other in the hallways or some such nonsense.

“I'd rather thought you two might have a lovely opportunity to meet at our holiday party,” Frigga continued. “It'll be hosted at the Four Seasons this year. The music, the champagne, the mistletoe...”

“You are not subtle, Mother.”

Frigga smiled, serene and maternal. It clashed rather horridly with her sharp, straight-cut suit. She was a ruthless woman when it came to navigating the choppy waters of business, caring for the company her late husband left for her like she cared for her own children. Which meant, more often than not, tough love.

She leaned back in her office chair chair as a knock came to her door. Her face closed, growing hard and careful. “Regardless,” she said in clipped tones. “the meeting is about to begin. We'll discuss this later. Show the board members in, now, Mister Laufeyson, don't be rude.”

Loki, for his part, had better things to do than waste time with an asinine meeting at fuck-this-o'clock. He did as instructed, opening the wide door and settling himself into the far chair at the end of the table. But his mind was far from the company politics at play here—like a teenager in school, he hid his phone under the desk and flipped through some of the less risque pictures he had of Tony.

(And by 'less risque', he meant pictures that would still give his mother a heart attack, but probably might not get him slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit. Maybe.)

_talk sexy to me_

His phone vibrates a moment later.

_bolts and tiny screws smaller than your pinkie nail. programming software to make stuff 'smart'. designing an lcd screen that's thinner than a hair_

_not what I had in mind, tony_

_really? bc that's sexy af, get with the program_

Tony sent a picture of a spread, a whole wash of little bits and bobs that seemed impossibly small and a piece of paper covered with mathematical scribbles that might as well have been Greek for all Loki understood them. From the side of the frame, Tony's gloved, hand gave a thumb's up. _sexy, lo._

Over the table, Frigga was giving him a piercing glare, so Loki tucked his phone back into his pocket with only a minor amount of guilt. As a member of the Communications team, he didn't even need to be here, but Loki had the sneaking feeling Frigga was trying to groom him into taking a more executive role in the company again.

After Thor ran off to live in the desert with some astrophysicist he met in college, Loki bore the brunt of Frigga's near rabid desire to a) find a protege and b) see the last of her sons in a committed relationship.

He tolerated it, if only because Loki had never been able to speak out against her, and because he knew the stress was starting to get to her. Frigga was tired, now, her shoulders slumping when she thought no one was looking, her mind turning back to caring for kin and kind, rather than a corporation.

But with Thor gone, Bors Corp was the last tangible tie she had left to Odin, and she didn't want to see it torn apart by greed.

Though if Loki was truthful with himself—and he generally tried to be, since everyone else rarely was—Odin would turn in his grave if Loki ever became CEO of the company that had been passed down the Bor family line since the mid-1800's.

Being a token adopted kid with a smart mouth that turned into a 'dandy' will do that, go figure.

It might've been easier if he had been adopted as a baby, or at least a very young child—he could've grown with the family, with Thor, and just been the odd black sheep. Instead, he was brought into the fold at two months shy of 15, and couldn't seem to find a place for himself between the titanic father and the golden brother.

Frigga had been his refuge.

She had wanted another child. A baby. Loki knew that she had only flipped through a book of smiling teenagers for show, but he never found out what about him drew her eye—what did she see in his dorky braces or awkward grimace? What hidden feature in his hair, or his pallor, or the stiffness of his shoulders?

She never said, just made sure he felt as welcome as he could.

It had taken him six months to stop slinking through the halls of that stupidly large manor with his shoulders around his ears and peeking around the corners. A year before his stomach stopped squeezing in panic whenever Odin spoke in that always-too-loud tone of his, like he was forever shouting across a boardroom and not the dinner table.

“Mister Laufeyson.”

Loki's eyes shot up. Thank god he'd perfected how to be bored as all fuck and still look like he was paying attention years ago. “Ms Bor.”

Frigga knew him too well to be fooled. “Please give us the quarter readings for the budget on our social media outreach.”

There was a multitude of annoyance he tried to convey with a single flick of his eyebrow, and judging by his mother's little smirk, she got the message. Still, Loki rose and read out 'his' report—one that had been prepared for him by one of the supervisors and shoved into his hands yesterday.

His mouth moved mechanically, but his mind stayed focused on the little buzz in his pocket.

 

* * *

 

 _a bathroom loki, really?_  
_holy shit tho that's a nice bathroom_

 _I just u a picture of my dick pls focus on the important parts_  
_the important parts being my dick_

 _fuck that send me more pics of the bathroom_  
_that is way nicer than the one at my office_  
_a+ shitting thrones there my friend_

 _jesus christ just send me a picture of your dick_  
_and I will fuck you in every executive bathroom_  
_of every office in manhattan._

_kinky. me likey_

**ping!**

_but maybe just buy me coffee instead?_

 

* * *

 

Tony didn't... actually expect that to work. So far, they had danced around attempts at a more—well, 'casual' meeting. You know, the kind of boring meet up where you keep your clothes on. Tony was busy, Loki had work things, it just never panned out. They met up for fucking, and that was it.

And Tony was fine with that! Totally fine.

It's just, he was also very much fine with seeing Loki in a more relaxed setting.

 _I get off at 4. we're going to the cafe on the corner of 26th_  
_no arguing_  
_your paying_

Tony snorted.  
_i've seen your apartment I know for a fact you make more than me_

He took a moment to Google the cafe Loki had given—  
_oh my christ can you say hipster???_

 _jfc_  
_it has good coffee_

 _admit it loki_  
_youre a secret hipster!_  
_be true to yourself loki_  
_embrace the hipster_

_goddamnit I'll pay if you never call me that again_

_nope._  
_this is too good to pass up_

 

* * *

 

The cafe was small, with a few table sets squeezed in to give it an appropriately crowded atmosphere. Everywhere Tony walked, it had to be sideways, lest he send everything flying left and right. A jazz number played on the radio, just a little staticy, but he rather though that was on purpose—in truth, this was such the complete opposite of Loki's apartment that it left Tony reeling slightly.

Still, he ordered two coffees—an Americano for Loki, who seemed like the kind of guy who took everything straight, black, and sweetened with the tears of his enemies, and an artsy-fartsy frappacino with caramel swirls for himself, because he was man enough to admit sugar and cream had pretty much replaced his blood at that point.

Tony also snatched up a chocolate muffin for himself, and an 'artisan' tomato and mozzarella sandwich for Loki. He was a fancy bitch, he deserved a $6 sandwich the size of his palm. Besides, Tony already had _plans_ for how he'd make Loki pay him back.

As soon as he sat down, his phone chirruped at him—a different ringtone, because he'd been reliably told that boners in public were bad.

_running late. eta 10 min_

Tony checked the time and rolled his eyes.

_10 min puts you right on time_

_if you're on time, you're late_

_you're a dick_

_do you really want to be talking about dicks rn?_  
_because we can_  
_I'm in a uber, but if I'm careful..._

With a massive effort, Tony picked his jaw up from somewhere on the faux-dirty floor. _He wouldn't,_ Tony thought. _That'd be... too far._

And yet it was an appealing thought.

The picture that came with the next text seared itself into Tony's brain, and earned a place in the folder on his computer where he kept all the best pictures of Loki.

Five minutes later, Loki walked through the front door, his cheeks pink and hair ruffled, looking for all the world like he owned both this place and Tony's ass. The smirk on his face grew when he caught sight of Tony, and a small part of Tony's soul devoted itself to a life of worshiping Loki.

“Excellent,” Loki said as he took a seat. “You already ordered.” Without further ado, he snatched up the frappicino and the muffin before Tony could protest, heedless of the fact they were obviously placed on Tony's side.

Mulish, Tony slid the sandwich and black sludge towards himself. He tried to psych himself up—if he could do shots of rotgut $5 vodka until he passed out, he could handle straight black coffee. Maybe Loki would find it impressive.

Bastard.

The first taste of unadulterated coffee was like death in his mouth, and Loki raised an eyebrow at his unmanly gag.

“It's... hot,” Tony explained lamely. Jesus fuck. It's like all his game flew out of the autumn-leaf decorated window under the gaze of Loki's cool green eyes. “So. You're here.”

“Mm. That's what happens when you ask someone to arrive somewhere, yes.”

“And I'm here.”

“I hadn't noticed. I thought I was sitting across from a particularly noisy dog.”

Tony huffed. “And our clothes are on.”

“Public place,” Loki said sagely, stirring his—no, _Tony's_ drink with the straw to mix all the whipped cream in. “Though the bathroom, I hear, has a lock.”

Well, when you put it that way... “As tempting as that is—” and it _was_ tempting, no lie—“maybe we'll stay dressed for this one?”

Loki jabbed the straw through the slushed ice in his—Tony's—cup. “Tony,” he said, “why did you want to meet for coffee?”

“I want to get to know you,” Tony said, honestly. “We don't have to... to date. Or have anything serious. For fuck's sake, we met on Grindr, could you even imagine the Thanksgiving stories of how we got together?”

To his relief, Loki did chuckle at that. “My mother would have a heart attack. So, if I'm reading the subtext right, you want to be exclusive—”

“No condoms,” Tony chirped, to sweeten the pot.

“No condoms.” Loki drummed his fingers on his cup, sending bits of condensation flying. “But we wouldn't be—dating.”

“Not really,” Tony said. “I'm not looking for anything serious, and I don't think you are, either.” At Loki's shrug, he plowed on, “But we could do a friends-with-benefits thing. Casual sex, casual meet ups, everyone wins.”

Loki relaxed back into his chair. Tony hadn't realized just how much tension the guy had been holding until he was all spread out, legs obscenely wide and an elbow thrown over the arm of his chair. He looked—good. He looked good. “Usually friends-with-benefits starts with friends.”

Tony let himself ease back, too. Loki was receptive to this idea, thank god. It had hit him around midday—the thought of bending over his desk and come leaking out of him, or finally being able to actually taste that dream dick with no plastic barrier, because plastic tasted like shit, no matter what flavor it was. Or to be able to get rimmed without the dental dam...

Tony lifted his coffee to his lips, feigning a sip because the second coming of Christ would happen before he put that in his mouth again. He kept his eyelashes low, demure, knowing they were his best feature—those, and his eyes, which he raised a moment later, now bold. “I've never done anything 'usually' in my life.”

A slow shark smile spread on Loki's lips, hungry. “Oh, Tony. I could just eat you alive.”

Suddenly, that locked bathroom was looking _way_ too appealing.

_Get it together, Tony!_

And because Loki was a dick, he chose to underscore his point by taking a huge bite of his stolen muffin—all Tony could think was _stupid sexy Loki_ because, by rights and all the physics of the universe, Loki's crisp black collared shirt should be covered in muffin crumbles and bits of it should be everywhere, like DNA at a crime scene.

But Loki just swept his tongue over his bottom lip, catching a dainty drop of crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

Barely present resolved duly weakened, Tony leaned forward and asked, “So, Loki, do you put out on the first totally platonic and friendly date?”

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, he did.

 

* * *

 

_lo, send me a pic of your dick_

_I can't believe the romance is gone already_

_ah ah ah! fwb. friends. that benefit_

_I can't believe the friendship is gone already_

_this is not the dick I wanted from you_

_friends usually bring me beer_

_you are SUCH a fucking cheapass I bought you coffee!_

_if I said I was moving, would you bring beer?_

_are you moving?_

_no_  
_but I still want beer_  
_from my bff_  
_best fuck friend_

 _................_  
_I better get dick out of this_  
_loki_  
_LOKI_  
_jfc_

 

* * *

 

Spending time with Loki became easy. Not that is was _hard_ \--ha--before, but Loki's special flair of dramatics combined with his complete inability to hold a conversation that wasn't 90% snark was like the nip to Tony's inner kitty. They still hadn't graduated to actual phone calls yet, but it became more and more common to catch an evening with Loki when the stars aligned and their schedules worked out.

For the first time in Tony's life, he actually considered pushing back his work hours into something more... reasonable. It only made sense; more time spent with Loki was more time spent sexing. Sexing was good. Tony liked the sex.

Getting his schedule more open just left more time for Loki, and that led to only good things.

He just had to clear things with Bruce, his only other actual friend, and his plan was a go.

Bruce, who was frantically trying to get his attention.

“Tony!” he hissed. “Tony!” When Tony turned to acknowledge him, Bruce flailed a hand in the general direction of the door.

Perturbed and not entirely convinced Bruce wasn't having some sort of fit, Tony glanced over to where he had indicated—

And almost dropped his tablet, because there was the CEO herself come down from the fancy Bors Corp head office tower, staring right at him. She smiled, and strange thing that violently reminded him of both his mother and a shark.

“Mister Stark, may I have a word?”

“Only one?” Tony said, sort of strangled, then promptly wanted to smack himself.

But Ms Bor barely batted an eye. “Several, actually. May I borrow your office, Doctor Banner?”

Next to him, Bruce let out a squeak of air. “It's yours.”

Literally.

Nodding, Frigga turned on her several hundred dollar heels and powerwalked to Bruce's run down, cluttered area he called an office. Tony had to scramble to keep up, which wasn't a feeling he was fond off—it brought up a lot of old memories of tailing behind Howard like a little nuisance, too small for the big world his dad was trying to fit him into.

Bruce's office, at one point, had been sleek and modern, but Banner was an old fashioned guy that liked to store his ideas on paper. There were stacks upon stacks of neatly labeled boxes, all filled with years of research filed away for posterity. Or something.

“You needed something, ma'am?” Tony said as she closed the office door with a _click_.

For a moment, Frigga just looked at him with soft eyes that glanced over his rough cheeks. He stuck his hands into his pockets before she could see how they were trembling. Situations like this made him wish he had a glass of something strong in them. “I was hoping for a report of how the development of our latest project is going.”

“Not to be rude, but don't you have someone whose job is exactly that?” A someone whose name was Justin 'The Twat' Hammer.

“Yes,” Frigga said. She crossed her still hands in front of her—Tony wondered how long that had taken her to learn. It was an old boardroom trick, keeping your hands hidden or occupied if they tended to shake. Show no weakness; show no mercy. “But sometimes details get... lost. Or stretched. I make it a habit to stay informed of all levels of my company, Mister Stark.”

That felt like a dig at the massive scandal that broke out when a whistleblower revealed Stark weapons had been sold to terrorist hands under Howard's nose. But her expression was placid and friendly, so Tony proceeded with no small amount of caution, highlighting his designs for the latest in smart technology—an oven that could sense when the internal temperature was too high and automatically shut off.

Frigga nodded along, occasionally prodding him with questions about his co-workers, or Bruce, or the members from the various other development teams.

“Thank you, Anthony,” she said finally, after what felt like days. “May I call you Anthony?”

Tony nodded dumbly.

“Wonderful. Your insight has been valuable—I would very much like to introduce you to certain people in the company that I think might be of aid to you in your career. Perhaps at our holiday party?” Her friendly smile turned just a hair maternal. “You... are going, of course?”

The strangest feeling of guilt squirmed in him. “Yeah,” he said, like he'd been planning to the whole time. “Sounds like a blast.”

Frigga stuck out her hand for a shake—it was smooth, with a carefully measured amount of firmness. “Wonderful,” she repeated. “Then I'll let you return to your work, Anthony.”

A little voice that might've been the last remaining amount of self-preservation he had told him that he'd just dug his own grave.

 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this slightly ahead of schedule to make way for a "Twelve Days of Christmas" short story compilation! So the holiday party is probably going to end up closer to Thanksgiving or early December, but we'll just use our ~imaginations~.


End file.
